I’m an all or nothing kinda gal. Obsessive is possibly too strong a word. More mildly exictable. But sadly this ‘mild excitement’ has often cost me dear. Take the juice diet for example. I bought the book (£8), the juice machine (£50), the entire contents of Tescos fruit n veg dept (£20) and it must have lasted – ooooh 2 days? Maybe less. Partly due to the fact that, having read the book, the thought of getting up at 6 to drink hot water, do some visualising followed by half an hour of excercise before I brave the Central Line just seemed horrifying. This hour is far better spent clutching a cup of builders tea in the comfort of my bed, contemplating the day ahead. So the juicer remains, shiny and hardly used, at the back of the cupboard. Along with the South Beach Diet Book, the GI Diet Book and the Low Fat After Work No Stress Cook Book for Working Mums.
I think the reality is, is that I just can’t seem to fit it in to my schedule long term. Well I think I can’t. I know I could if I put my mind to it. I get all gung-ho and fired-up ready to embark on a new eating regime, only to be scuppered by the lure of the teapot and the thought of the Central Line. Then someone offers me a glass of wine. Seems churlish not to. And so the downward spiral begins.
And somewhere buried in all this turmoil is the thought that I DESERVE to eat what I want. I work hard. I do other stuff hard (if you can count extreme ironing and power washing). But unfortunately, a whole tin of Quality Street doesn’t just pass through my person without leaving it’s calling card.
I did well last year on the Cambridge Diet. 1 stone and a bit in 6 weeks. But the thought of powdered soup and protein bars again is making me twitch. And I’ve put on that bit that I lost – and some. So I’ve plumped for the Atkins diet. Low carb, high protein. Which kind of works with my clearly rigid schedule! Even I can manage to throw a few left over lumps of lettuce and a slab of cheese in a tupperware box. As I write, I’m half way through day one. But already, the lack of bread is starting to take it’s toll. What doesn’t help is the smell of toast in the office. Suddenly everyone is looking like a giant pastry.
But I’ll persevere. At least until Wednesday. At which point, there’s every possibility anyone casually eating a sandwich will be attacked and wrestled to the ground just so I can sniff their crust.
I’ll keep you posted.